Poetry / "A cry for love." - poem [5]

This is my second poem so far, so I hope it's not over the top bad. Thanks for reading it and please be brutal!

Once I sighed, twice I moaned, once again I thought of you.
Yet the night's embrace no longer lets me go astray...
As badly as I wish, feelings I cannot subdue.
Yet thoughts, I'd set them free, but it's like they won't obey.

Oh you, once my all, if one more time those words you'd say,
Those secret words only we do know, our bound, our treasure,
I'd forget about this world and into thine I'd sway.
But, oh, I cannot hear your voice! This how could I endure?

Our dream, our world, my love, now grows dimmer in my eyes,
For you are either mute, or I have lost my senses.
Scream, goddess! Cry for me! Our past, ourselves!, do not despise.

I am running towards you, towards that place yonder.
I dare to look upon your face; so cold, so bitter.
"Fall, be gone and die, lover awaiting a wonder."

Undergraduate / "Yet another cooking story." - Yale Essay [15]

Hello everyone! This is my Yale Application Essay. I still have two years until i finish HS, but i think that in order to improve i should start now. I beg you to not sugar coat your objections whatsoever. Be blunt. Thanks beforehand for your time <3

I tried to work on coherence, i have a huge problem with that. My thoughts are scattered as always. Here's an updated version of the essay:

I love to cook. Even though I cook badly.

This stunning discovery struck me when I was 5 years old and my parents described my feather-soup and my sand-cakes, both haute cuisine dishes, as very pretty, tossing them aside the very next second. As a child however I never gave that easily up. Since stories (and mostly TV) had shown me that success is possible through carefully planned persistence, I came up with new recipes: sand-grass-soup with branch garnish, snail-pebble-chowder with lunch leftovers, spit-salad ... and many more. Without obtaining any victory however, I gave up the war. I gave up all my bark medals and carton attestations of my great self. I had grown so much taller.

I decayed into an altered state known as "rebellious adolescents". Rebellious adolescents are basically as creative and daring as children, but they get grounded for their thinking and that's why society prefers to call them ignorant. When I myself was a rebellious adolescent my old belief in my culinary abilities had been shattered, if only for a while. This time it was a certain Gustave, a fat, French chef from a movie with a cooking mouse, Ratatouille, that had enlightened me. Gustave, a mere fictional character, spoke the following wise words: "Everyone can cook." Of course, as a rebellious adolescent my first reaction had to be: "Aw!" The fact that the fat man believed that everyone could and should be doing whatever they felt like doing sounded awesome.

Some years later, after advancing in social hierarchy, I realized that my old discovery had been the right one all along. "Gustave, you liar!" As an aspiring mature person, I wanted to believe that food was something actually edible. Why did I call the fat chef a liar? Well, after all those years, I still couldn't cook. It took me a while to discover this carefully, behind a friendly smile and a white apron, hidden flam.

But maybe I am being a little too harsh on Gustave. Maybe I'm missing the point. Was I too tall now to understand the words of a kids-movie character? Thinking back, the runty general would have cried. "Why don't you cook anymore?"

Remember, dear reader, when you were 5 years old and upon impact with the ground you started to screech like a dying gorgon? Then you must remember that the moment you got up you couldn't care less about your bleeding wounds. Sure, falling on pavement that runs at a fast pace will only hurt your elbows, but if you manage to get up, suddenly you won't mind the injury.

We need to get up, no matter how often or badly we fall. It is only human to fail sometimes. What's unforgivable is to live on without having tried to improve.

Just so you know, I started cooking again.